


Broken Wings

by Syan_Mythros



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 10:00:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5963209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syan_Mythros/pseuds/Syan_Mythros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After all is said and done Zephirin and his brothers are brought back, to repent for the sins they committed, to have a second chance?  Only the gods and goddesses above know for sure why.  But for Zephirin the only thing that keeps coming back to haunt him is the man he had come to care about.  The man he had fallen in love with despite how hard he tried not to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Wings

The sound of metal ripping through metal and flesh greeted his ears, the realization that it was his own blood spilling forward left him shocked. Frustration and anger welled within him as he lashed out at his foe, the godsdamned Warrior of Light. Zephirin slashed and scored a hit, though in that moment the sword pierced through him, through his heart and he felt a pang. Strength flooded from his being and the blonde felt himself falling to his knees still impaled on the weapon before it was roughly ripped from his torso and raised for the final blow. One of his brothers appeared then and swung at the Warrior granting him a moment for another to help him to his feet and back away. Noudenet floated up and away with Zephirin to hover above with the other knights until Thordan called them all back down for one last massive attack. 

Zephirin felt weak however and the attack took far more out of him as his lifeblood dripped to the arena below. Even the tempering, the primalization of his form could not aid him and as Thordan fell to a blow from the warrior of light he too felt himself sinking down to his knees. It is said that when you die your life passes before your eyes in a rushing flash and then you are free. Blissfully free of pain and suffering. His last breaths were not spent recalling his childhood, his time training… no they were full of memories of a smile, of blue eyes, of dark hair, of the look of anguish on his face that day in the vault. His field of vision then suddenly filled with the Warrior of Light again, weapon raised aid as it came down…..

Green eyes shot open, the man lurching up from his makeshift bed in the cave. Sweat poured down him as an anguish tore through him to match the phantom pain in his chest. Gasping breaths tore from him, his chest heaving as a hand came up to it, to the scar right above his heart. He still bore it, despite his body being returned from the aether. Once Thordan’s grasp had been released on him he found that though he bore the scar still, likely as a reminder, something had brought him back. Something had granted him another chance to walk the land, to make amends for the mistakes of his past. Time had passed and yet he had not stepped foot back there. He couldn’t bring himself to dare to see what had happened. Occasionally news drifted to him, though he couldn’t seek it out. Every tiny snippet from Ishgard seemed to carry his name to him. Every time it ached and he found himself wishing almost fervently that he had never gone back to the Vault that day, never agreed to Thordan’s plan, never visited the cell that day, actually disappeared when the Warrior felled him and his brothers.

A cold, clammy feeling crept up in him as he recalled everything with stark clarity. No… he could never go back. His note would have to be enough as much as it pained him to stay away. As much as he had hurt Aymeric.. because he had to. This was how it had to be and he would make do. He had thus far, a year and half later he and all the other former knights of Thordan had found each other and were making a meager living for themselves. Staying under the radar as best they could, though everyone thought them to be dead. Some did missions as ‘simple adventurers’ others had picked up a trade, all of them found themselves remarkably changed from their ordeal though. Zephirin had taken to spending time away from the rest as how could he truly explain just why he frequently woke in a cold sweat, an agonized cry tearing from his lips to try and form the name he could barely even hear let alone say.

The others wondered sometimes, though none dared to ask and he never offered. They all had the unspoken agreement that some things were off limits for discussion. They had woken in various parts of Eorzea, Zephirin himself waking in the Shroud, stumbled upon entirely by accident. He hadn’t remembered at first, anything. His name, where he was, all was a hazy blur, just the driving thought that there was someone he had to find. All he had on him was his armor his sword and a small box holding a blue and gold ring. That ring had puzzled him when he first lay eyes on it again. It evoked some strong feeling, some strong need to find this nameless and faceless man. Eventually clarity came over time spent healing and stumbling across his other brothers. He was Zephirin, former commander of the Heavens’ Ward. He was from Ishgard and the person he sought was the one thing he would stay away from for the man’s own good. Perhaps once, the morning he had purchased the ring on the walk back from Aymeric’s quarters he had toyed with the hope of there being a chance for something more, something permanent. Then… then he had been stripped of his very free will, though willingly given he and the others had been deceived. 

His fists clenched in the makeshift blanket as he thought of the man who had brought them all to this. Thordan. Said man had returned as well, far worse off than them. For while they suffered nightmares, flashbacks, phantom pains, Thordan himself was truly lost. The man was a broken shell of the once proud ruler of Ishgard, his mind and most of his faculties lost to him. He relied now on the kindness of strangers as none of his former knights would even deign to aid him. No, the kindness or perhaps cruelty depending how you looked at it that he received from them was that he continued to ‘live’ if one could call it that. They kept track of him of course, more out of concern that should he ever remember they would need to dispatch him before he could ever do anyone else harm. Zephirin glanced to the stand beside his cot and the small fabric covered box that sat there. It looked so dingy now, fabric fraying and torn. The inside however was intact and he’d kept it all this time, he’d had it with him everyday since the day he had bought it. It’s contents were his small hope at first, that when all was said and done perhaps a better future awaited the two. Then when Aymeric had been imprisoned in the vault… Pain lanced through him as he recalled what he had done, what he felt he had to do. It had been with him then, hidden in the small pouch within his armor. When the Warrior of Light had defeated them all, he’d had it with him then too. The reminder of all he had lost, all he had blindly thrown away to unknowingly follow a madman’s dreams of a better future. At the time though he’d been certain of the path before him except in small moments of clarity before the iron will of Thordan clamped back down.

Now as he stared at it it made his heart ache and his mind wander. If none of this would have happened would he have already presented it to Aymeric? Would he already have made a pledge to stay by his side if the other knight would have him? It was just two months shy of the two year mark since he’d ‘died.’ Surely by now Aymeric had moved on. Oh how that thought pained him. Though he admitted it was a selfish one, he wanted him happy, but Zephirin wanted to be the one to bring him happiness. He was ‘dead’ or so all believed and he had no reason to doubt that the Warrior of Light would have gone back to Ishgard crowing about his victory. Infact some small rumors had reached his ears confirming that and it had himself and a few of his brothers wondering if perhaps Ishgard might be safe again for them. Some wanted to never go back, the memories too painful. Others however wanted nothing more. It was all they had known, and now, for the most part surviving as adventurers and tradesmen and swords for hire they found themselves desperately missing at least the familiarity of home. 

With a small curse Zephirin slipped from the cot, rubbing hands roughly over his face. There would be no more sleep for him this night and so he settled into getting ready for the day that had yet to even break. Half a bell later found him in a modified version of his armor, the blue replaced with red, and his sword on his back. The ring was safely tucked away again and he began to make the trip to Ul’dah to the market to see what he could find in terms of jobs. Normally he made do with hunting marks and threats, however he supplemented with the acquired skill he’d picked up for crafting simple jewelry. He found it soothing now, though at first he’d frustrated himself greatly with it. A quick stop in to check on those of his brothers still in the city yielded all was as well as could be expected and nothing had changed with Thordan. That accomplished the blonde made his way through the city to the marketplace, his goal the adventurer’s guild.

Merchants of all varieties set up stalls along the way, anything and everything you could possibly want for sale. Most had learned better than to try and attract his attention as he never bought anything except the bare essentials. Perhaps he simply enjoyed that simple lifestyle, or perhaps a part of himself didn’t feel he deserved better after all that had happened. That day however one merchant hailed him to get his attention. Zephirin glanced idly as he went to walk past the man but something stopped him and he paused mid step. There at the stall were two small gold boxes, one adorned with a blue gem one with a red. Something about them made his everything seem to still around him, the drone of the crowd blocked out by words long remembered.

“Perhaps if at least one of the members of the Heavens’ Ward would be here to help you, you wouldn’t need me around.”

“I’m no blushing maiden!”  
“No? You look like one.”

“You are closer than I’ve ever allowed anyone. This could destroy me.”  
“I would never.”

“You have betrayed us...and you have betrayed me.”

His heart hurt as he faltered and slowly turned to the stall. The look on the merchant’s face as he thought a sucker coming to browse his wares entirely lost on Zephirin. The blonde stared at the two boxes, heart hammering painfully in his chest. The red and blue a contrast yet compliment to each other. So much like himself and Aymeric, the name painful to even dredge up.

“How much?”

The question was sharp and to the point though his tone was quiet. The merchant paused, shocked from his usual routine of listing wares and playing them up more to sell. He eyed Zephirin as he opened his mouth, hesitation taking hold. Something told him this man was not one to be trifled with though he would like to ramp the price up a fair bit.

“Ah such a wonderous set, truly,” he started, his tone carrying a hint of a stammer at first, “I should think one hundred and fifty thousand gil a piece at least for such fine craftsmanship and the intricacies of them…”

He trailed off, noticing that Zephirin’s eyes had left the two music boxes and were fixed on him. The man was downright unsettling, green eyes giving a glare that promised much suffering if he was crossed. The merchant gulped nervously and waited, starting to debate if the money was truly worth this anxiety. He’d seen the blonde around before and knew he was good for it as he brought in many high ranking targets. Whispers and rumors followed him each time he returned to the Quicksand to return his mark’s ‘remains’ most of which were in very small pieces in a sack. This was what led him to pause and as Zephirin’s eyes narrowed and his arm moved the man blurted out, “But for such a helpful hunter I could ask no more than that price for the set itself.”

He hadn’t waited to see if Zephirin was willing to pay and was reaching for his coin purse or for his sword, the man’s nerves buckling like a house of astrologian cards. Zephirin nodded but once and continued the motion to pull his coin purse out before handing out the hundred and fifty thousand gil.

“Th-thank you ser,” the merchant nervously offered as he saw Zephirin bend over to take in the closer details of the two pieces, “Uhh would you like me to gift wrap them for you...er?”

Zephirin merely nodded and the man hurried to comply. As he did Zephirin lost himself in thought. Memories of stolen moments, heated kisses, the two of them skin slick against one another, the last night they spent nestled together in each other’s arms. He had no plans to go back, why had he bought these. Why had he held onto the ring. Frustration and hopelessness welled in him and with arrangements to have them safely and swiftly delivered to his place of residence where the he and the other knights called temporary home he stalked toward the Quicksand. Something would feel the bite of his sword today as he needed to quell the pain welling in him. He wanted to go back, he wanted to know how Aymeric was… He wanted to be by his side once more though such a thing ought to be forbidden to him. He knew he didn’t deserve it after everything and yet he couldn’t want anything except that deep down.

Days passed and still he had yet to unwrap the two music boxes, though he had moved them to his private cave. None of the others had asked and Zephirin had not offered. He sat now, head in his hands on his cot in casual garb. His armor sat to the side after being cleaned and tended to. The last week had been naught but his emotions warring with him, leaving him to make back the price of the music boxes at least two fold. He had done so thorough a job handling the threats he was actually unable to take up a task today as there was naught left to handle. This was what had left him with naught to do but think and lose himself in all the thoughts and feelings warring within him.

That evening found him strapping armor on and packing everything else except the music boxes in a travelling satchel. The small weathered box was as always in the small pouch he carried it in on his person and with a final look around the cave he slung the satchel over one shoulder and gently picked up the wrapped boxes. His first stop was Ul’dah where he entrusted the two parcels to Vellguine and left explicit instructions that if he should send word they were to be sent to him post haste, an address and further instructions would be provided at the time. With that accomplished he and the elder man set down and shared one last cup of tea before his journey as Zephirin explained he was going to go back, to scout the field as it were. Vellguine nodded, knowing full well there was something more but respecting the man’s privacy enough to not say it. With wishes for Halone to watch over him and a quick safe trip Zephirin set off to make one last stop before beginning the trek to Ishgard.

The refugee camp outside of the town proper was full this time of night, those who had tried to find work during the day now back either for the better or worse. Quickly Zephirin made his way along the outskirts to one lone tent in a small outcropping. The tent was patchy and in poor repair, a scowl graced his features as he took in the light inside. The man was in it seemed which while that was good for his purposes it still rankled him that he had to see him at all. Hastily he pushed the flap aside and entered noting the old man hunched over a mostly empty soup bowl in rough spun peasant garb. Far from the once flowing elegant robes, far from the fine meals in the large hall, far from the man who had led them to this and yet it was the same man. Eyes met his as he entered, noting just how far fallen the man is and subtly checking for any change. If he needs be dispatched for remembering Zephirin has already vowed he would be the one to do so. As former Commander it is his duty to his brothers.

“Oh boy hello again,” the voice was weak and bits of soup still clung to his lips and now shortened beard, “You.. you look familiar.”

No change Zephirin noted, at least outwardly, the man still seemed to have no clue of anything, his mind addled far beyond help. Some of the other refugees took to tending to him and helping as needed. He was for all intents and purposes a nameless elezen with an addled mind who could not fend for himself. No one here knew his past and that was perhaps one of the few things sparing him anyone’s wrath or being turned into Ishgard for a likely hefty reward.

“I should,” Zephirin offered quietly as he moved to go over to stand closer to the former Archbishop. Green eyes scanned him carefully for any sign, any indication. When none presented themselves and Thordan went back to noisily slurping soup Zephirin gave a slight sigh. 

“The others will check on you,” he offered quietly, inwardly wincing at the man’s disgusting eating habits now. Thordan looked up, surprise coloring his features and more soup trimming his beard.

“Oh? Hello there, when did you get here?” The question was genuine and Zephirin shook his head slightly before he slipped out and into the night. The others would keep an eye he knew, and if need be word would be sent and he would come back and handle the situation. For now though his gaze turned north, hand going to gently touch the pouch with the small box in it and slowly he started walking. Truly going by Aether would be faster, but this way he had time to figure out what to say, how to say it...what to do if he was not needed or wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a huge fan of the Aymeric/Zephirin despite having started off staunchly against the blonde. The more I come to write him and now RP as him the more I really truly find myself a sucker for this poor bastard. So much so that my Zephirin muse and myself couldn't help but do a little follow up to her story. Whether it'll all work out in the end for those two or if they're bound by destiny to be kept apart... I leave that to the Twelve.


End file.
